Fenturi Fate (Spacestalker Saga Book 1)

by Bevan Greer

  And I’m calling others odd? Yeah, right.

  She walked back to her cabin to clean up, knowing Jace would signal as they approached. As she passed the galley, she heard Roc rumbling apologies to Shea for insulting her cooking. Finally, they might have some peace at the next meal.

  She grinned at the image of the gigantic Roc towering over tiny Shea while groveling for her forgiveness. Now that was an odd pair.

  Dare had picked them up five years ago after she’d unceremoniously launched her then less-than-honest shipmates off her ship. Crewless and annoyed at life in general, she and Jace had ventured to a seedy spaceport to take a break from life. Then they’d watched Roc and Shea try to con Shry’tal Nybal—only the biggest crime lord on the fourth moon of Meklen—out of a large bin full of beks.

  Jace’s Psi abilities allowed him to see through Shea’s illusion, that the currency she and Roc intended to pay the crime lord was actually a pile of gnarn nuts used in making dye.

  Dare had been amazed at Shea’s masterful illusion talent, in awe really, as the ability was so rare in the System. Dare had been doubly impressed to see the petite, yellow-eyed Shea standing under the protection of a large, gray-skinned Rovi. The Lynaran’s diminutive frame and adorable looks made her seem harmless.

  Her partner, Roc SteelFist, hailed from Rovi, a Motherworld planet. Dare would later come to learn that he had a human mother and a Rovi father, so though he could be rough and warlike, his mother’s sensibilities made him easy to get along with. Roc stood heads taller than Dare and Jace. He had a masculine beauty that his deep gray skin only emphasized, huge six-fingered hands that could fix just about anything, and bright white eyes, no pupil to speak of, that enhanced his exoticness.

  With one blow he could have killed anyone trying to harm Shea or himself, yet he and his thieving companion had gone for skill over brawn. Dare had been drawn to the two thieves stealing from an even bigger one.

  But even Shea had her limits, and Shry’tal had unfortunately seen through them. Before the thieves could be shot to pieces, Dare and Jace had stepped in and saved their sorry hides.

  A laughing acceptance from Shea broke Dare from memories, and she prayed Roc refrained from more comments about the woman’s cooking. One could hope.

  After entering her cabin, Dare stripped and settled into a warm solar bath that quickly erased the grime from her tired body. “Ah, Roc, what would we do without you?” The adjustments he’d made throughout the ship had been utterly wonderful.

  Once clean, Dare breathed easier and changed into a loose-fitting tunic and pant, her feet in Vembi sandals that she had to admit felt like walking on the softest Fentra sand. She frowned at the memory of anything to do with Fentra and hastened to greet Mra.

  Dare opened the panel to her right and entered a scene straight out of jungle lore. It had taken a good half a year to get the right atmosphere, but she’d finally nailed it.

  Two Fen trees, one near death, the other lush and tall, from floor to ceiling, anchored the five sided room. Lush grasses carpeted the ground, bordered by clusters of Fen flora, both sweet-smelling and colorful, were kept alive and in place by a floating sheet of Nexian growth mat. The trees and bordering leafy shrubs kept the oxygen filtered, and the temperate rainfall, again, thanks to Nexian technology, kept the air fresh and clean, which Mra loved. Stepping into the room felt like stepping onto Dare’s home planet, and at times, she dearly wished to trade reality for this calm, peaceful place.

  She breathed in the vibrant scent of life and felt at home. “I’m sorry I took so long but I needed to rid myself of that hated Yanvi dust,” she said before she could be reprimanded for being late.

  Mra, a four-legged feline that stood roughly two-thirds Dare’s height and weighed twice as much, purred as she approached Dare, whom she considered her cub. The cat had adopted Dare two decades ago, on that fateful night when M’Chre had helped them both escape the planet. She and Mra had looked at each other and formed the bond only the Fenturi had ever shared with the spiritual guidecats.

  That’s all right then, the cat said, communicating telepathically.

  “I missed you too, beautiful.” She held back a laugh as Mra preened. “Look, I’m just going to say it straight out. We’re going down to Vembi whether you and Jace like it or not. The crew needs a break, and we need this currency. With the beks we make on this deal I’ll be able to get you another Fen tree to replace the one that’s nearly dead.”

  Mra sniffed, snapped her long, reddish brown tail at Dare’s legs, then leaped up the healthy tree.

  And… conversation over. Dare left Mra’s room with a promise to bring the cat some decent food from Vembi.

  Yes, Mra definitely added to the eccentricity of the crew. An alien Rovi, an illusionist from Lynaran with bright yellow eyes that fairly screamed I’m unique, a Fentra-Kre crossbreed guidecat and stalker, the only one Dare knew of in existence, and—she paused as she reentered the control room to stare at Jace—our very own Psi.

  He hovered over the monitor like an expectant father, and Dare wondered what he hoped to find. She’d done the preliminary scans on the planet yesterday and knew only a handful of Legion patrol units would be in the area. The majority of units normally patrolling this sector of the Nearworlds were on standby awaiting a prison transfer to Nine and Dead, the Legion System’s prison planet.

  “Jace? Everything okay?”

  “We’re good. I’m fine here. Thanks.”

  Dare left him for the library at the back of the ship, knowing Roc and Shea would rather poke out their eyes than read. Sad, but at least it gave her a nice space to sit and ponder things in private. Dare wondered again, as she normally did when considering her crew, what Jace hid behind those space-black eyes.

  Taller than she by a good head, with a lean but strong body, he had the look and skill of a decent space pirate. She’d seen him wield both a Bylaran rifle and Ziwi blade with ease, handle Legion patrols in hand-to-hand fighting with impressive tactics, and yet he’d never told her exactly what it was that motivated him. Not currency or conquest. She had sensed something deeper lay on the Psi’s mind. She sighed and leaned back as Jace’s puzzling personality occupied her tired mind.

  She recalled the first day she’d met him. At just fifteen years of age, she’d been living alone with Mra, devoid of human contact except for those she spied upon in the pirate colonies on the planet Kre.

  She learned that cruelty and horror lived in many guises, on many worlds. Less bloody perhaps, but no less creative than the Bylaran scum that had murdered her family, the Kre pirates made a steady profit from those they robbed and killed.

  After a time, the deaths she’d witnessed numbed Dare’s senses. Like Mra, she lived to survive and hunt, to grow in strength.

  But the day Dare had seen Jace led off of a vessel onto the torture grounds beyond her home in the wild, something inside her snapped. For an odd moment, the space of a breath perhaps, his eyes had sought and held hers through the distance that separated them.

  She hadn’t understood how he could see her, hiding in the trees. But something about the dark grief in his gaze had drawn her. When she’d watched the pirates begin to torture him, she’d reacted.

  She didn’t recall much of it, but something devastated the pirate’s village that day. Whether it had been her or Jace that caused it, she still didn’t know, nor did she want to know. Revisiting the past could be a painful process. She and Mra took Jace with them into the forest, and with Mra’s help, Dare had nursed Jace back to health.

  In return, he’d taught her to speak with words. Dare had thought mental communication normal. Mra had used growls and grunts to speak to other animals, but she spoke with Dare using her mind.

  For some time Jace had done the same. Only after he’d taught her to verbalize her thoughts had she learned how rare their ability to communicate telepathically was. Jace, like Dare, had learned long ago to hide. The Psi, beings born with psionic gifts, had been feared for a long
time. They were rumored to hail from Mystique, the thirteenth Nearworld planet.

  Nothing but rumors circulated about its existence, and only a few people had ever met a real Psi. Each planet had its wonders and aliens enabled with special abilities. But a Psi could delve into anyone’s mind at will.

  Jace taught Dare early on to shield her thoughts. Having opened her mind to him at a young age, he had unintentionally tapped into her mental potential. He’d opened up a pathway, allowing her access to him if she even thought about talking to him. Over time, that ability extended to those with whom she shared an emotional connection.

  So she worked on her mental shield and kept others out and her thoughts in. Dare didn’t want anyone else’s thoughts but her own. She often wondered if Jace thought of his gifts as a blessing or a curse and knew she didn’t want them.

  She had enough problems dealing with her own past.

  “Wow, am I way too introspective today. I definitely need to have some fun on Vembi.” She leaned her head back in her chair and studied the approaching planet of Vembi in all its amber clouded glory.

  Oh yeah, I surely have the oddest assortment of crew out there. Not the least of which is the freakish captain. Hell, accidentally hearing the crew’s thoughts is the least of my worries.

  ***

  Castor sighed with satisfaction as he tucked his loose shirt back into his pants and adjusted his gun belt.

  “Ah, Ren, you surely don’t know what you’re missin’.” He grinned over his shoulder at the lovely Vembite blowing him a kiss.

  Ren’s swallowed another glass of Bitter Blue. “I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it.” His deep voice drew the stares of several females around them. Unintentional, yet pleasing all the same.

  Castor’s brown eyes twinkled. He stroked his thick mustache, seeming pleased at its rich growth. It now framed his mouth and chin, giving him a wicked look, especially when he smiled. “I don’t know how you do it, but they come to you like zorkin to flame.”

  “It’s in the blood,” Ren said bitterly and he shoved his empty glass toward the bartender. He noted Castor’s wince and cursed himself for spoiling a good time. “But hey, let’s hope your blood doesn’t start boiling anytime soon. You know what they say about disreputable Vembites.”

  “This is a good establishment.” Castor’s face turned bright red. “The girls are clean, I saw a med-check,” he muttered, and Ren stifled a chuckle at his crewmate’s expense.

  “Good to hear.” Ren studied the patrons in the heavily crowded pleasure center. He ignored the sensual stares and come-hither gestures from the available females and males around him.

  From the time Ren had been old enough to recognize lust, he’d been selective about his bed partners. He supposed, in his arrogance at his ease with women, he felt justified in being choosy. But why not? Everything else in life he seemed to earn at some dire expense.

  As leader of the elite Bylaran Legionnaire unit known as the Stalkers, named after the legendary Kre stalker cats, Ren didn’t relax his guard as he took in the scene around him.

  The group to his left engaged in open sexual play. The group to his right maintained a bit of privacy, as Castor had, moving in and out of the partitioned rooms down the corridor beyond the open bar.

  In front of him sat several patrons interested more in each other and conversation than in sex, something he admired, considering the nature of this place. He waved the bartender down for another glass of Bitter Blue and took a large sip, enjoying the entertainment of guessing who was cheating and why.

  He noted a threesome engaged in an illicit affair. He recognized the man as a mated government official from Lynaran. He saw another tryst involving a Bylaran—the wife of a colony leader who sat very comfortably next to a female Vembite pleasurer. Knowing the colony leader the Bylaran had married, he wasn’t surprised to see her here, or in the arms of a woman. His gaze continued to roam as he waited for the rest of his crew to finish with their amusements.

  Normally he would have availed himself of a pleasurer or remained on board ship. But with the prison contingent using much of the Legion’s resources and his own itchy feelings about trouble brewing, he felt it best to stay and watch, and wait.

  Sudden movement from a darkened corner beyond the open fornication to his left drew his attention. The cautious movements of four patrons walking toward a private table struck him as noteworthy. Their tension seemed at odds with the relaxing vibe in the bar.

  An average looking human male walked between by two large, armed men, Meklens by the look of their heavy brows. Judging the flat black coats of Shorhu lizard hide and the quality of their Rovi-class weapons, Ren’s estimation for the danger potential of the nondescript man between them went up a notch. The three sat and waited.

  The fourth member of their party made him sit up and take notice. Instinctively he sensed something…more…to her than met the eye. A female, partially concealed under dark glasses and a ranger hat, sat with subtle grace across from the three men.

  She wore a bland, standard black jacket and tan trousers, simple spacewear available on any planet. The ranger hat showed her familiarity with the Nearworld planets, but other than that he could detect nothing outstanding about the woman to explain his screaming senses.

  Yet the way she’d moved, light on her feet, as if awaiting the exact moment to pounce, hinted at danger. Cursing his imagination, Ren settled back against the bar and watched the group. He could smell something about to turn very bad, but whether that came from the dangerous quartet in the corner or from something else, he didn’t know.

  “Ren?” Castor shifted his gaze from his captain to the group that had caught Ren’s attention. “Problem?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Ren remained vigilant. “I’m going in for a closer look. Stay here and keep watch.”

  “No problem.”

  Ren took his drink with him, giving the pretense of wanting a better seat. He threaded through the gyrating bodies on the floor and past them toward a corner of the bar that offered him a better view of the group in the corner. Careful to keep himself inconspicuous, he put his back to the group and sipped his drink while he kept his attention on the mirror behind the bar.

  He could hear little of their conversation, so he called on the energy within him and focused to tune out the excess noise. Suddenly he could hear them clearly, as if he sat next to them instead of distanced at the bar. He didn’t question his abilities, but merely made good use of them.

  “Well, Dare, it seems you actually made good on your word.” Blane Fethra smiled, showing razor-sharp teeth.

  Dare nodded but said nothing, waiting for her client to show his appreciation. He didn’t disappoint her and tossed a bag on the table.

  She thought to reach for it but didn’t like the hard expressions that suddenly appeared on his guards’ faces. Instead she remained still. Under the table, she slowly removed the Ton from her belt. Roc had perfected the Ton—an ingenious weapon that could stun or kill easily leaving no trace of injury, by decreasing its size, making it small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.

  She slipped the Ton’s loops over her fingers and waited.

  “Go ahead, my dear.” Blane nodded at the bag. “I won’t bite.”

  His henchmen laughed, adding to her unease. Steeling herself for a trap, Dare took the bag and peered inside. It was filled with beks, and by its weight it seemed Blane had paid in full. She didn’t want to stick around to count it, though. Not with the way she was feeling about the transaction. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled with warning.

  “Good doing business with you then.” She stood to leave.

  Just then Tir, the uglier of Blane’s men, moved to stand next to her.

  “Not yet, Dare. There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you.” Blane gestured to her seat with a polite nod, though the giant standing over her demanded she sit.

  She slowly sat and tucked the bag of currency into her jacket. She’d n
eed both hands available to fight these three.

  “There’s something I’ve been wondering about you.” Blane bit his lower lip hard enough to bleed. A trail of green blood ran down his chin.

  Green blood?

  “What?” Dare didn’t like being detained, and sitting across from the Shorhu scum, her alarm meter grew. Since the beginning of this meeting she’d felt something off. Now she sensed clear danger—and from more than Blane and his friends.

  Dare had been the one to choose this location in the first place. The size of the bar, in addition to the multitude of patrons, would aid in her escape should she need it. Plus, what went on in this bar stayed in this bar. The Legion could be found patrolling the nearby areas, and no one wanted large attention brought on them here.

  Blane leaned forward. “I want you to remove your hat and glasses. There’s something about you that reminds me of something I haven’t seen in decades.”

  Dare didn’t like the turn in conversation. Without fuss, she stood and turned to Tir. “Will you hold them for me?” Instead of taking off her jacket, she quickly brushed him with the Ton. As he collapsed, she directed an equally large pulse at his companion, then turned the weapon on Blane.

  No one around them interfered. The Ton made no noise, and her movements had been quiet, unhurried. To anyone watching it appeared as if the large men on her left and right had passed out due to some over-imbibing, not at all uncommon on Vembi.

  “So you want to play. I’m so glad.” Blane stood, his hands up, clearly unarmed and apparently unthreatened.

  “Look Blane, I don’t know what you hope to gain by this. We transacted business and we’re done. Delivery made, fee paid. Let it go.” Dare removed her glasses so that she might look directly into his eyes.

  Blane stared at her with delight. “Oh, yes,” he whispered in a hiss, and Dare noted that his tongue suddenly seemed to have split and forked. This couldn’t be good. “I’ve been looking for one of you for a long time.” His skin mottled and turned several shades of green.